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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325511">Hunger Pang frame- Sanders Sides</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Realsies5926'>Realsies5926 (orphan_account)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Has an Eating Disorder, Eating Disorders, Gen, Insecure Morality | Patton Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders has an eating disorder, Morality | Patton Sanders-centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:29:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,084</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Realsies5926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Patton is unsure of his legitimacy and the others try to help. </p><p>(Trigger warning: eating disorders, suicidal idealization)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nails dug into skin where the hem of a t-shirt clung to mid-arm. They pulled, revealing a single stretch-mark, though solitary, bulging and vein-like. It was purple, starkly contrasted with a pale complexion. Fabric was yanked over it, concealing it, covering the shame it bore. The hem of a shirt slid up to unsheathe similar marks, lining where wide hips began. They resembled a pen mark, if a pen mark could last for the rest of your life and never let you look in a mirror without a shirt on without wanting to throw up. </p><p>Patton was not skinny. His hips were wide, thighs strong, shoulders soft. His chest protruded forward to a point at the end of his sternum, visible from the outside. He never did know what caused it, if anything. His stomach was flat, but had never been slim. It started at the end of his sternum and straight down, only curving at the end where it met his pelvis. His arms bore no muscle, only soft flesh, which made him anxious to think of, let alone stare at for hours on end. They reached mid-thigh when unsupported. Patton's hands were small, and so were his wrists. He liked to show them off under rolled up sleeves in the hope that it made him look trimmer. </p><p>He leaned forward in front of the mirror and played with the fat in his cheeks. He lifted it, seeing his jaw jut out from underneath. Patton often would dwell on how he'd never see that jawline in the light of day, naturally showing itself off in the glimmering sun. Since he was still young, 19, he hoped he was just a late bloomer, and would grow out of his face soon enough. Still, he knew he wouldn't, but he could hope. </p><p>Patton walked back and sat on the bed, feeling the short hemline of his sleeves. He reached to a coat hook and grabbed a thick cardigan, shrugged it on, rolled the sleeves up to above the elbow and flung himself back onto the mattress. His stomach protested, twisting and cramping, begging for sustenance. Patton relished in the feeling, swelling with pride that he felt so empty. He pressed down on his stomach and felt it screech in pain. He was loving every moment of it. </p><p>Without preparation, his name was being called. His roommate, Virgil, was yelling through the door at him. Patton removed his hands and stood up to open it. <br/>
"Hey, I was just wondering if you wanna join everyone for lunch in an hour?" Patton squealed inside, smiling on the surface. <br/>
"Oh, I have a lot of work to catch up on, but I'm so glad you're eating today. I'm proud of you." Virgil smiled and hugged him tight. His bony limbs curled around Patton's full frame jaggedly, skeletal hands gripping the cardigan. How Patton envied him. Virgil's face was gaunt and sunken, eyes tired, lips chapped. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his hands were elegant. He was also taller than Patton by two inches, making him 5"6'. </p><p>Virgil tugged away and waved him off to do god knows what. Patton returned to his own room, collapsed back down and resumed his concentrating from before. </p><p> </p><p>Patton waved Virgil goodbye through the apartment block's door, leaning on the frame as he turned the corner. The moment he was out of sight, Patton's smile faded into anguish. He made his way up the stairs as quickly as possible and slammed the door shut the moment he entered the place. He slowed his pace, letting his face conduct the right emotion- a rarity. He sat on the couch, midsection screaming at him to '<strong><em>please, eat something</em></strong>', but he denied it yet again. </p><p>The thought of food made Patton feel sick. He wished he could be, to be so easily made ill, like Virgil. That way, at least he would get to eat and not suffer the consequences. Alas, his gag reflex was pathetic and it would take some elaborate kind of skill to make it happen. Patton slouched onto his knees, forehead pressed into them, and groaned aloud. It was strained and dry; he needed a drink. </p><p>Water only made him feel worse. It sloshed around in his stomach and made him feel queasy with only one sip. The lessened hunger was the only upside to this decision. Patton let himself lie down gracelessly on the couch and closed his eyes. He felt full, yet unsatisfied. Patton hated it. </p><p> </p><p>Virgil found Patton in his room an hour after he'd finished lunch with Roman and Logan. It was strange to not have Patton there, but they got through. He always enjoyed watching them bicker like young siblings, so where was the downside? It was mid afternoon when he arrived home and the scene was dead quiet. Virgil knocked on the door quietly, only to receive and answer all too quickly. <br/>
"What's up, Virgil?" he chirped excitedly, as though the apartment hadn't been haunted by a deafening silence only seconds before. </p><p>"Oh, nothing, I was just wondering why it was so damn quiet... I expected you to be singing, like you always do." Patton's smile faltered, not enough to be an issue, but enough for Virgil to take is as one. Before Patton could lie right to his face, Virgil piped up. <br/>
"Are you okay?" he asked. Patton shot him an amused, bewildered look and laughed under his breath. <br/>
"Of course, why do you ask?"<br/>
'<em>Damn it, he's such a good liar</em>,' Virgil complained internally. '<em>Totally Janus' fault</em>.' <br/>
"Alright, if you say so."</p><p>Patton closed the door on Virgil slowly, making not a sound. The door clicked shut and he slid to the floor, eyes squeezed in agony and holding back chokes of denial. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patton felt better the next morning. He woke up to light rain against the window, shining light coming through the translucent silver curtains. He smiled. 'Rainbow today,' he thought excitedly, standing up slowly and peeking past the curtain. He couldn't see much, everything over three metres away becoming an indistinguishable blur, but the light was so blinding. It felt good for a few seconds, before Patton retreated back to grab his glasses. He avoided the mirror on the other side of the room and rushed out with a pile of clothes, tan jeans and a white top, to the communal bathroom. </p>
<p>"Morning, sunshine," Virgil deadpanned, sipping his daily coffee. Patton had gotten used to the smell long ago, but every so often he'd cringe in disgust at it. That morning was one such incident. <br/>"Ah, fuck, why?" he scoffed, wrinkling his nose. Virgil snickered, sipping slightly faster. Patton rolled his eyes with a playful grin and locked the bathroom door. </p>
<p>Patton wished he would shrivel up and disappear when he saw his face in the mirror. He was drying his hair, which was all licked back with the hot air, revealing the true extent to how wide his face was. He bore through it, just like every morning, and shut of the drier with lightly dampened hair. He'd just let that dry. Patton left the bathroom feeling refreshed and significantly prettier, having replaced his hair before his face. He sat next to Virgil at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and leaned forward, daring Virgil's stoic, forward look to break and start laughing. It didn't take long. </p>
<p>"Quit lookin' at me like that," he huffed sarcastically, hiding a grin behind his mug. Patton breathed out of his nose, head held high, and closed his eyes for a huge, shit-eating smile. Virgil shoved him, gently. <br/>"When do you get to work today?" Virgil asked. Patton checked the time on the clock above the altar. It read 8:08 am. <br/>"1:00 pm. I have ages." Virgil hummed. <br/>"I don't have work today, so if you wanted to do something...? Maybe we could get brunch?" Virgil looked ecstatic, waiting for a boatload of praise from Patton for his efforts. What he received, he did not expect in the slightest. </p>
<p>Patton's smile fell from ear to ear into a strained, fake smile. His hesitancy put Virgil on edge; something was off. <br/>"You're uncomfortable, why?" he asked, all too serious for Patton to stay calm. He remembered Janus' words: study yourself, know your own tells and suppress them. <em>Casual eye contact</em>. <br/>"I don't know what you mean." </p>
<p>Virgil sneered. "I mentioned brunch and you cringed." Patton shrugged nonchalantly. His expression was immaculate, shoulders relaxed. Virgil resented every second he'd spent with Janus; Patton was picking things up and this was not something he took lightly. He grabbed Patton's hand and felt it rupture. <br/>"You're shaking," Virgil whispered breathlessly. Patton shot him the same baffled look as the night before. Silence swept them over. </p>
<p>"Are you feeling okay? Seriously?" Virgil's tone had changed from mild concern to suppressed worry. Patton felt the guilt building up plague his soul. He gave in. <br/>"Nahhh, I- ughh, not really." His words were slow and deliberate, taking every ounce of effort to speak. Virgil wished he would clarify, but he felt it was not his place. Despite his malcontent, Virgil reached up and felt Patton's forehead, which creased in avid concern upon contact. His hand worked its way down to lightly brush Patton's increasingly warm cheeks. </p>
<p>"Yeah, you're burning up. Go lie down on the couch and I'll see what I can find."<br/>"Find?"<br/>"Yeah, breakfast. Something light."</p>
<p>Patton would have to accept. His apatite was non existent, but he was literally starving. He stood up, not bothering to mask the deep pain the emptiness brought him, and laid down on his back. The palm of his hand to press deep into his esophagus, which didn't work as he always assumed it would. He didn't stop doing it, though. Virgil, all the while, kept checking on him. The quiet groans and far-off expressions coming from the living room brought Virgil back. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wonder why I work better at night. Current time: 23:24 (11:24pm)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"It hurts, Virge," Patton whined incessantly, fanning himself with a piece of folded paper. "It's so hot."<br/>"I know it is, sunshine, I know." Virgil was beginning to lose patience. Patton was sicker than he'd ever seen him, but there was no need for all the whining. It wasn't loud by any means, but Virgil was used to less than complaints from Patton. It was strange an unnerving, so much so that he was getting irritable. </p><p>"Patton, you gotta stop with the complaining, it's killin' me," Virgil said numbly, ringing out a fresh washcloth into the ice water. Patton whimpered, eyes closed and head back on a mountain of pillows. <br/>"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Patton repeated. Virgil dabbed his head with the cloth, watching each drop of ice-cold water slide down Patton's face. It looked like he were crying. The temperature swiftly died out and Virgil retracted the cloth. Patton winced. </p><p>"I'm sorry," he wailed, seeing the dead look in Virgil's eyes. Virgil was on the edge of dissociation, as Patton could see very clearly. Something arose in him that Patton had triggered; he remembered Virgil's time at the hospital, half a year back. Patton dropped the paper in his lap and turned away, ashamed. Virgil came to a little late to console him. </p><p>Virgil did not cease to aid the best he could. Once he regained awareness enough to recognize where he was, he turned back to the bowl on the nightstand. He dipped the compress in diligently and rung it out more loosely. The frosty feeling returned to Patton's skin, forcing up a sigh from deep in his lungs. Virgil smiled, if a little sloppily from being so out of it. Patton, in kind, urged a grateful grin, buried solid in his soul. Virgil left the compress on Patton's forehead and leaned over with his head on his forearms. It was clear, after a full six hours of playing nurse and watching Patton's awareness deteriorate, he was undeniably drained. Patton didn't blame him in the slightest. </p><p> </p><p>When Roman knocked on the door, he expected an immediate answer. It was strange when he heard no fumbling about for a set of keys like usual, nor a voice interrogating Patton on where he'd last put them. He stood for a full minute before deciding his patience was undeserved and called Patton's cell. It was answered after another thirty seconds by a slurring, raspy voice, which immediately elicited Roman's upmost concern. </p><p>"Roman! Why're you calling so late in the evening?" Patton giggled, followed by a shallow cough. Roman smirked at Patton's aloofness. <br/>"It's morning, dear... I was wondering if you both wanted to join Logan and I on a picnic, but I suppose not, hmm?"<br/>"Mmhn, no, sorry," mumbled Patton nervously. "I have a headache."<br/>"As I might've suspected," Roman replied with a slight indignant scoff. He so wanted to enjoy the warm weather, what they had left that year, but Patton took precedence. "Why don't you get Virgil to open the door and I'll get Logan up here, hm?"<br/>"Yes! Wonderful idea," he chirped, extending the end unnecessarily. Patton hung up the phone, to which Roman responded with a dutiful sigh through the nose, and waited for the chaos to erupt behind the closed door. </p><p>Sure enough, there was a thump on the wall beside the frame and a turning of keys. Virgil opened the door with a bedhead to rival that of a hedgehog and a scowl the Gods would envy. He stepped aside to let Roman in, who was, by contrast, tidy as could be. His black hair was combed to the very tips, delicate brown skin smooth and varnished with tinted moisturizer and a bold, red lip so sharp at the edges it could cut glass. Virgil soaked in the silent judgement with pride and grinned toothily back. </p><p>"You sure you aren't sick, too?"<br/>"Rethink your words, Princey."<br/>"Ah fuck, sorry."<br/>"Don't sweat it, I've said worse about you."<br/>"...When?"<br/>"You'll never know... now, get Logan up here."</p><p>Roman made a face of pure insult, Virgil did not respond. He returned to Patton's room to see him sound asleep, wheezing shallowly through his nose. Virgil cooed briefly and tucked him in up to the shoulders, when Patton stirred peacefully. Virgil left the room to see Logan just walking in. <br/>"How is he?" Logan asked. His expression was one of concern; Virgil liked that. His immediate desire to confirm a friend's safety before anything else was admirable, even if conducted in the dullest, most uninteresting tone as possibly spoken in. </p><p>"He's okay, he's just delirious... fever skyrocketed last night," Virgil clarified diligently, pouring himself a generous glass of water. Logan sat at a stool, dragging a distracted Roman with him. Roman snapped back to reality and spun his head around to avoid an incoming supportive beam right in front of his face. He sat beside Logan and leaned back calmly, knees sticking out with his heels hooked on the stool. <br/>"How's he faring? He sounded frightful," Roman asked. He stole a glance at Logan, who was staring at him with a side eye. Roman blushed, lucky for Virgil's preoccupation. <br/>"He'll be fine, I think... I've never seen him with a fever this high, I just wonder what brought it on," he said, throwing back the last of his water and slotting the cup in the sink with the rest. Logan and Roman watched him pass and open Patton's door again.</p><p>"I'll be in here; feel free to grab a beer or some shit, I have loads." Virgil disappeared behind the door, abandoning the other two in their awkward silence. Roman broke it first, as he always did. </p><p>"What now?" he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye. Logan stole a peek at the door and, seeing it shut and hearing the silence from it, turned back to Roman. <br/>"They're not here, technically," he said, suggestive hints in his tone. Roman leaned over and locked his lips in with Logan's, smiling. <br/>"Been waiting to do that for the past ten minutes," Logan mumbled, face still a mere half inch from Roman's. He growled in response, dragging Logan back in by the lips. They moved in sync, balanced and agreed. </p><p>"Beer?" Roman suggested after a moment, maybe two. Logan nodded and migrated to the couch, Roman following soon after. They opened their bottles with a fizz and tapped the tips gently, smiling fondly at one another. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patton's vision was blurry and distorted when he woke up, which he would usually ignore and reach for his glasses to fix. This time, though, he could feel the metal frames against the sides of his face, cold and crisp from the frosty atmosphere. He sat up, slowly, and felt his forehead again; seething. He swept his wrist along his forehead and stabilized himself on the bedpost. He rested most of his weight on that one shoulder, hip connected to the hand as he gauged his surroundings. </p><p>Of which he was sure, he was in his room. Patton recognized the layout and coloration, if blotchy and dull. He squinted as light splashed through clear glass and at his feet; he figured it was late. What time it was exactly was all but clear. This futile attempt he was making to sound coherent enough to go and join the others, of which he was still unclear on their whereabouts, was sapping what little energy he'd retained from his last meal... two days ago? His head shook, trying to clear his thoughts without his consent. He tapped his stomach, glancing over at the mirror and clambering over the phone he'd discarded on the floor so many hours earlier. </p><p>He didn't look any thinner. His efforts felt for naught, but he was not ready to give up just yet. It felt enough, he felt empty. His stomach and chest were so tight, screaming out for the attention they so desperately needed. The feeling was like a piece of plastic, shrinking and crumpling under the extreme heat of a blowtorch. Patton reached for his hoodie, arm unable to move more than half its length with the tightness in his muscles. </p><p>Patton reached the door with difficulty, but he reached it nonetheless. The door opened without his consent after leaning on the handle. He fell through and yelped in surprise like a kicked puppy, colliding with the beam at the edge of the kitchen bar. <br/>"Patton?" Virgil vocalized flatly, face full of hardened worry. Patton's eyes darted around for a bit before they found Virgil. He was sitting on the couch with a bowl of something sweet-smelling. <br/>"Oh- you're eating! Ohhhh, I'm so proud of you!" His voice was not as loud as he expected it to come out, but Virgil didn't seem to register his blunder. Instead, he shrugged and smiled, lifting his spoon gratefully. </p><p>Virgil's eyes did not deter from Patton's shaking shoulders, or the slight wobble in his step as he tottered into the kitchen. He sat at the counter and put the kettle on, chin cupped in his hands patiently. His eyes were duller, looking away from Virgil into the shadow under the cupboards where the piercing light above dare not shine. He tapped his cheek with his forefinger. <br/>"How ya doin', buddy?" Virgil asked wearily, face half-buried in the cushions. Patton shrugged, daring not look him in the eye. </p><p>Patton's leg started to bounce. He wished he'd stayed in his room, not that he gave himself much of a choice by falling through the door. The kettle popped and he drained it immediately into a mug. While waiting for it to simmer, Virgil appeared behind him.<br/>"Go lie back down-"<br/>"VIRGE- oh, my stars."<br/>Virgil exhaled sharply from his nose and hugged Patton tight. "C'mon, you know what's good for you."</p><p>Patton scoffed and leaned into Virgil's chest. He felt the bones sticking out of his chest so vividly, it was making him queasy. <br/>"I'm better. Of course, I've also <em>been</em> better, but it's not awful."</p><p>"I don't believe you, and neither does Logan. Do ya, Logan?"</p><p>Roman's voice emanated from the door, which he leaned on without a care. Logan was also there, less blank-faced than usual. His ordinary businessman-akin stare was replaced with a remorseful, shimmery empathy. Patton wanted to cry, the sight was so rare. He collapsed his head into Virgil's shoulder and whined, eyes closed. Roman snickered. <br/>"That's my schtick, Patton," he joked. Logan rolled his eyes and approached cautiously. Virgil handed him off with ease, rubbing his lips with his thumb. </p><p>"Let's go... I'll bring your tea for you." Patton didn't need any more convincing. Compassionate Logan was a strange thing to see. Roman and Virgil shrugged at each other and let Logan take over entirely, just as surprised, or so Virgil thought. Roman was, expectedly, a decent liar. He gave Logan a wink as he hauled Patton off to his room. <br/>"I've only been awake for five minutes," he complained as the door closed. Roman looked down at Virgil, who was still picking at his mouth. </p><p>"Don't you do it," he ordered. <br/>"I might have to."<br/>"Don't do it."<br/>"It's killing me."<br/>"You're right."<br/>"You know what I meant."</p><p>Virgil shook his head, arm over his stomach. He looked up with hopeful, begging eyes. Roman refused to cave. <br/>"I'm sorry," he muttered with a short mewl, making a break for the bathroom. Roman sighed in defeat and retreated to Virgil's room. It was bare, everything coated in black. There was a desk in front of the window as you walk in the door and a bed in the far right corner. Other than that, the décor was pathetically lacking. Lamp light from the street was the only thing keeping it illuminated, bathing Roman's sharp features in a warm hue. It was peaceful. </p><p>He lay on the bed and spun his hair around his fingers in light curls. He tried to ignore Patton's moaning, Virgil's spluttering from across the hall. He massaged his ribs with the free hand, eyes resting. Sounds, though faint and muffled, circled around him. Sounds of grief and pain, of suffering. He felt guilty. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Silver light swam through the translucent curtains in an elegant wave. It was smooth and fluid, comforting, like the gentle swish of the tide. The window was set in the middle of the wall, to its right, lay a bed. There was a desk opposite, not far enough away to accommodate a chair comfortably. Along the floor were strewn a plethora of scripts and pens, discarded out of stress and hesitancy. </p><p>Janus stared down his phone, eyeing the empty reply box. He'd sent only two messages, six months apart, in hopes the man who ghosted him would one day forgive him and reply. He considered sending another, briefly, before giving up entirely and throwing his phone on the floor with a thud. Remus peeked in from the hallway at the sound. <br/>"What're you doing?" he asked, eyebrows askew with concern. Janus shrugged him off and rolled onto his back. </p><p>Janus' eyes were locked permanently in a suspicious stare, unrelenting and cold. They could not portray another emotion in that moment, as distressed as he was. He was numbing, growing less and less feeling as the seconds passed. Remus saw his anguished withdrawal and approached.<br/>"Jan?" he fretted. Remus sat on his knees and rested his thoroughly tanned, scarred arms beneath his chin.</p><p>"What?" Janus retorted. Remus frowned and leaned forward, brushing through his short, coiling hair. Janus played with the cuffs of his yellow sleeves, dark eyes beaming a dazzling obsidian hue in the moonlight before him. His richly dark skin gleamed like the dew on a warm autumn evening might while waiting to evaporate on a granite bench. His hands, coming up to rest on his shoulders protectively, were long and sleek and delicate. The skin was soft and supple, adorned with a ring on the middle right finger. An amethyst was embedded within a snake's tight coils, detailed with ever-changing metallic silver. </p><p>Janus played with the ring as Remus loomed over him. Remus' auburn hair, hanging loose over his shoulders, fell in front of his face and framed it, creating a chiseled effect which flattered his jawline. <br/>"Let's do something," he suggested much less enthusiastically that usual. "You need to feel better."<br/>This statement brought a tight grimace to Janus face. <br/>"I'm not in the mood," he parried. His English accent was thick and drawn out. Remus sighed and sat back on his heels, strong shoulders keeping him upright. Janus shuffled back onto his front and dropped his head on his arms. </p><p>Remus pressed a soft kiss on his forehead. "I know you miss him," he comforted, "but he's not coming back to you. It's been a year."<br/>"I know," Janus deadpanned somberly, "but he left me. He said he could handle it."<br/>"I won't leave you. I can handle it."<br/>"I hope trusting you wasn't a mistake."<br/>"It wasn't, and it isn't."</p><p>Janus edged on a sincere smile when his phone started ringing. Remus chucked it over to him as he sat up: it was Patton. He answered the call immediately, smile remaining. <br/>"You summoned me?" he joked. Patton giggled over the line.<br/>"Yeah! I wanted to know if you felt like coming over? I'm alone in the house cause my roommate's on a night shift and I didn't wanna be alone."<br/>Janus welcomed this invite generously.<br/>"Sure, I'll be there in a half hour."</p><p> </p><p>The porcelain bowl was too hard on Virgil's decaying fingers. He gripped his hair relentlessly, keeping the bangs from falling into the line of fire. His muscles clenched and seethed with a light burning, as did his throat. </p><p>His hoodie strings could not keep from falling in front of him when he first started. He had been so desperate, he didn't think to move them. Hot wax spat from the back of his mouth, expelling the smallest of bites one could take of a cookie for a taste test. A co-worker, as pleasant and attractive as they were, had handed him half of one and asked him how it tasted. Of course, it was divine, but Virgil could not keep it down. Fear took hold of his heart not twenty seconds later, and so here he found himself. </p><p>When he finally finished, the job having been quick, Virgil lounged on his heels and slumped against the wall beside him. He rid the stall of any evidence he was unwell and rubbed his arms, a soothing mechanism he'd adopted. He stood up, used to the format of these situations, and left, popping a mint in his mouth. He walked out, head down, and glanced over at the front kiosk. Some old woman was having a surprisingly calm go at one of the customer-service operators; fucking heroes they were. </p><p>Virgil glanced up at the dome in the ceiling where the daylight would usually spill in. It was dark, sugared with stars and gleaming from the right where the moon shone. He sighed and looked around for his trolley, seeing it nowhere. Behind him crept a slight figure, draped in a black overcoat. <br/>"I stocked yours for you," chirped Caramel kindly. Her slanted eyes, so unlike his own, squinted behind quaffed, black bangs in a huge, toothy grin. Virgil smiled back down at her and let her hug him, briefly. <br/>"Thanks, mini."<br/>"When are you gonna stop calling me that?"<br/>"Never."</p><p>Virgil shot his sister a cheeky smile and pushed her playfully. She huffed through the nose and, with gentle fingers, brushed back her platted hair onto her back. <br/>"Well, since you're technically done for the night, maybe you should head home." She wasn't wrong, but he wasn't going to admit it verbally. Caramel pushed him towards the door. <br/>"Go home. I'll tell Cam what a diligent employee you are."<br/>"That's cute, but he knows."</p><p>Virgil waved her goodbye with a sly grin, at which she sneered, and threw off his supermarket-issued uniform jacket. His hoodie's patches were on display fully by the time he reached the car park, which he was more than glad to welcome. He admired his handiwork all the way to his car's door and stepped in with weightless feet. The keys clicked in place and he leaned into the leather seat, breathing 'finally'.</p><p>
  <strong>'I know what you were doing.'</strong>
</p><p>Virgil looked down at his phone at a text from his sister. She never neglected emojis, or used upper case, so the moment he witnessed the first letter come into frame his blood pressure skyrocketed. It flooded so high and quick he could've sworn he heard a heart monitor's beep hit the ceiling. He texted back:</p><p>
  <strong>'what?'</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>'Go home and talk to Patton; look at him and take notes.'</strong>
</p><p>Virgil threw in a thumbs up and turned his phone off. This was not the first instance in which Caramel had told him off, far from it. He glared out at the midnight sky and focused in breathing right, ignoring the emptiness he felt inside and out. Off the handle, Virgil slammed his head into the top of the steering wheel. What a pain it was to live in modern society. He called the first person he knew would listen.</p><p>"What brings you to my contact, darling boy?" Roman vocalized harmoniously. Virgil had caught Roman in the middle of a song, which he refused to drop until it was over. Virgil sat there for two minutes listening to him practice, natural reverb from his huge kitchen echoing through the line. While he enjoyed the privilege of hearing it, he needed more than music to soothe his aching soul. <br/>"Can you... meet me at my house? I'm in a rough patc-"<br/>"Yes! Oh. my gosh, don't ever think the answer will be no, if I can help it."</p><p>Virgil smiled at Roman's abnormally redundant statement. Hearing it a thousand times never killed the sincerity. <br/>"See you there," Virgil whispered. Roman giggled and hung up, surely already gathering snacks and extra blankets which he knew Virgil would not have. </p><p>Hearing the commotion in the kitchen, Logan launched an investigation. He peeked round the corner and saw Roman raiding the cupboards. Logan shook his head. <br/>"Virgil?"<br/>"Astute observation, dear! I'll be by his side shortly with a plethora of pleasantries."</p><p>Logan smirked and shook his head. He stepped between Roman and the counter which he was surveying. Roman looked up with unsuspecting, innocent eyes.<br/>"He can wait a moment."</p>
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